


Untouchable

by tugela54



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Jock Derek, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Size Kink, Teacher Stiles, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tugela54/pseuds/tugela54
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s a professor, for crying out loud; youngest tenured academic in the university’s history; on the road to greatness; wise beyond his years.</p><p>   But when those big hands hold him down; when that arrogant jock makes him beg and plead?</p><p>   Why, he just becomes Derek Hale’s property…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untouchable

**Author's Note:**

> Something short and dirty I had to get out of my head...

“Professor Stillinski?”

   Stiles turns to find jock muscle filling his doorway, the twenty year old’s thick, raven hair barely and inch from the frame above. His knuckles hover over the wood, shirtsleeves pushed up past corded, hairy forearms.

   “Derek,” he smiles affably, quickly turning back to his bookcase. “How can I help?”

   The linoleum squeaks under the young man’s Converse as he walks in. “I was hoping we could discuss my essay?”

   “Sure thing. Have a seat, I’ll be riiight with you…” Stiles strains up on his toes to reach the top shelve, but a shadow falls over him, followed by the scent of some musky deodorant and just a hint of male sweat. Derek’s arm reaches up past his outstretched fingers, and easily picks the book off the shelf.

   “There you go,” he smiles and hands it to Stiles, fabric straining over his bicep where he’s got his bag slung over a thick shoulder.

   “Thank you,” Stiles says politely, taking the book and averting his eyes. “Have a seat,” he points to the chair opposite his desk.

   Derek drops his bag on the floor and sits down, the chair creaking under his solid weight. Stiles takes his own seat and busies himself with organizing some papers, purposely not looking at that breathtakingly handsome face that taunt him during lectures. “What can I do you for?”

   “Why didn’t you come over last night?”

   Stiles head snaps up. He tries – quite unsuccessfully - to form a quick response. “You know why.”

   Those grey-green eyes stare right through him. Then, jaw set, he stands up, and to Stiles’ increasing consternation slowly starts walking around his desk.

   “Because,” Derek says, looking truly upset. “I _distinctly_ remember asking _very_ nicely.” He gracefully perch on the edge of table, one solid thigh pulled up, the other leg anchored to the floor.

   “Derek,” Stiles says under his breath. “Not here.”

   The crotch of Derek’s jeans bulge tight, the zipper-flap flaring open. He draws a finger across the desk. “You know how much I _dislike it_ when I ask nicely and you say no.”

   “I am your _professor_. How do you think it’s going to look if I pitch up at a _frat_ house in the middle of the night,” Stiles angry-whispers.

   “Everyone was already passed out. Besides, you look younger than me, no one would’ve noticed.”

   “I told you to come to my place instead.”

   “Well, I’ve never fucked you in _my_ bed.” Derek pouts, sounding every bit as young as his twenty years.

   Stiles swallows thickly. “Be that as it may, we have agreed-“

   “I haven’t _agreed_ to anything. _Professor_ ,” Derek stops him. He draws closer to where Stiles has his hands crossed on the desk, and brushes his finger down the side of his wrist. Stiles jolts and pulls his hand away, glancing at his open office door.

   Derek also looks at the door, then stands up from the desk and walks over. He slowly swings it shut, letting it click deliberately, then turns the key like he wants to hear every tumbler lock in place.

   “Derek, I don’t-“

   Derek only has to look at Stiles to silence him. Stiles drops his chin at once, sinks back in his chair. He doesn’t look up when Derek stalks closer, not even when his sneakers come into view.

   His chair is pulled out and swiveled around. A finger, gentle but insistent, lifts his chin, urges him up to his feet. “Derek, please,” Stiles breathes when he stands.

   “Please what?” Derek asks curiously, tilting Stiles head back further so he can look him in the eye.

   “I could lose my job.”

   “Hmm,” Derek hums. He covers Stiles’ throat, smiles at the way his nostrils flare, then walks him backward until he has him pressed up against the bookcase. “And I could lose my scholarship,” Derek looms over him, not sounding in the least bit worried.

   “You could kill a man on the library steps and they’d turn a blind eye,” Stiles scoffs, Adam’s apple bouncing against Derek’s broad palm.

   Derek just hums again and proceeds to rub his whiskered cheek down the side of Stiles’ face. Stiles shivers, hates himself for it, can feel the first drop of precum smear the inside of his underwear. Derek smiles against his skin.

   He lets his other hand migrate over the front of Stiles’ tailored chinos. He grins when he cups his erection, his hand big enough to have his fingers reach down between his legs, all the way to his taint. “Miss me?”

   Stiles doesn’t dare answer.

   His lips are pursed when Derek tilts his head up with his thumb, his questioning smile positively lecherous. He begins to massage Stiles junk through his pants. Stiles eyes flutter.

   “I’ll take that as a yes, then,”

   And then he’s cupping big hands around the back of Stiles thighs and lifts him up without even blinking, locking his legs around his back. He rolls his hips forward, grinding his crotch against Stiles’ and ducking his head to rub his beard further down against Stiles’ throat. “ _I_ missed you, you know. Had to go find some sorority slut to help me out. Keep up appearances and all that.”

   Stiles wants to punch him. “Yeah? Hope… ah… hope she was… worth it,” he winces at Derek’s bulk pushing him back into the bookcase.

   Derek grinds down harder, the steely thickness of his erection squashing Stiles’ balls, making him hiss and tighten his hold around Derek’s biceps. “She wasn’t,” he breathes right by Stiles’ ear, and takes the earlobe between his teeth. “They never are.” He rolls his hips again and bites down on the soft cartilage, Stiles yelping and digging his nails into Derek’s muscles.

   He undoes the top two buttons of Stiles’ shirt and, pulling the fabric away to expose his clavicle licks a broad, wet stripe up the perfect, mole-dotted skin, before closing his mouth over the elegant line of bone and biting down.

   “Ow fuck!” Stiles jerks in his hold and pushes at Derek’s solid chest, but with a deep growl Derek just pins him harder against the bookcase with his superior bulk and bites down again.

   “Derek,” Stiles just about curls in himself under Derek’s teeth, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, fingers clenched over his thick shoulders.

   With a final lick Derek pulls away, inspecting his mark. “Nice,” his mouth turns up at the quickly blooming livid bruise. He pulls stiles collar close again, smooths it out. “Out of sight, just for me.”

   Stiles exhales shakily, but then Derek is sliding one hand down the back of his thigh and over his ass to press his fingers where the fabric is stretch taut over his hole. Stiles involuntary clench has Derek shaking his head.

   “Relax, I won’t fuck you in your office,” he chides mockingly.

   “’s not that.”

   Derek tilts his head, and an almost evil grin spreads across his face. “Still sore?”

   Stiles nods, not looking at him.

   “Good thing you didn’t come over then.”

   Stiles remains silent, eyes still downcast.

   He lets him down and grips Stiles crotch one last time. Then he’s stepping back to lean against the desk, feet apart, squeezing his own very obvious erection through his jeans. “Luckily I’m not fussy where I stick my cock into you.”

   He turns Stiles chair for him to sit down. Stiles obeys, and Derek rolls it closer until Stiles’ knees are between his upper shins. He cups the back of Stiles’ head and pulls him forward, pressing Stiles’ face into the solid bulge of his crotch.

   Hands on his broad thighs Stiles can’t help but mouth at the rough fabric, dragging his lips along that thick, wide ridge that strain against the seam; inhaling Derek’s musk, pungent even through the heavy denim.

   “I have a class in five minutes. Stop fucking around,” Derek says, voice already a little broken.

   Stiles pops the top button and uses the flap to drag the zipper open. With both hands he pulls the elastic of Derek’s underwear down. His cock jumps free, veined and heavy and slaps Stiles against the cheek. It leaves a glistening smear of precum against his skin, and Stiles quickly takes him in hand, mouth open and searching.

   He pulls the folds of his foreskin back, the veined ridges so familiar, the meaty thickness of his lover easily overflowing his grip. Licking up the underside of the fat head he hooks the elastic of his briefs under Derek’s balls, fondling the hairy sack at the same time.

   Derek fists Stiles hair, his breath catching. “Fuck, I never can last long with that fucking mouth of yours,” he mumbles, lips parted as he watches Stiles tongue work around his cockhead.

   Stiles takes the encouragement and dives in, taking Derek as deep as he can – which is only a few inches at most – sucking his lips down in a tight ring, working his tongue over the thick glans again and again as he bobs his head up and down, up and down.

   “One of these d-days… _ahh_ … I’ll get you… get you to take me… all the way… won’t you, baby?”

   Stiles hums his agreement around Derek’s cock, causing his head to fall back and his nails digging into Stiles’ scalp. Stiles just scrunch his eyes shut and sucks harder. He drags a hand up under Derek’s shirt to his hair-covered abs.

   Derek grips his hair tighter and starts pumping his head back and forth on his cock. “Fuck, Stiles, I’m so close…”

   Soon Stiles can feel the quakes travel down to Derek’s thighs, his sack starting to pull up.

   “Gonna come… gonna… _come_ … _fuuuck_ …”

   Stiles has just enough time to take a deep breath before Derek’s cock gives its first jerk, spilling hot, salty come into his mouth that burns down his throat. He chokes at the sheer volume, semen-infused spittle bubbling from the corners of his mouth. He tries to swallow as quickly as he can, eyes creased shut and breathing through his nose, both hands around the pumping column of thick flesh now.

   Derek groans with every shot, hips working, his grip on Stiles’ hair on the verge of being painful. “If I see one… spilled… drop…” Derek warns through his orgasm, face red. Stiles eyes are streaming by the time Derek pulls him off, but he doesn’t wipe them yet, knowing it’s not over.

   Huffing like a bull, Derek drags his wet, sticky cock across Stiles lips and over his cheeks, letting the last few dribbles paint his face.

   Only when he lets go his deflating cock, dropping his hands to brace on the edge of the desk does Stiles sit back, his own breath racing. Derek scowls at him, eyes flicking down, and Stiles immediately sits forward. “Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, pulling Derek’s underwear and jeans up and carefully tucking him back. He zips Derek up and pats one last time over the still substantial bulge.

   Stiles looks up to find Derek just staring down at him, mouth set at an almost surprized angle, broad chest rising and falling. Those thick eyebrows are relaxed though, eyes almost tender, and for a second Stiles can imagine them gazing down at him glazed by something other than a carnal haze.

   Derek reaches out and smears a drying splatter of his seed down Stiles chin. He sinks his thumb between Stiles plumped-up lips and he sucks it off wordlessly.

   With one last look Derek pushes away from the desk, walks around and picks up his backpack. He rummages inside and pulls something out, clutched in his fist. He lays it down on the desk in front of Stiles.

   Stiles looks down at the security pass attached to a lanyard in the university’s colours. He looks up at Derek, stunned. “The _play-offs?_ ”

   Derek shrugs casually.

   Stiles remembers to close his mouth. “How did you…”

   Derek gives him a _come on, it’s me_ look.

   Stiles nods vigorously. “I’ll be there.”

   “Good,” Derek says and almost seems to relax a bit. But Stiles could be imagining.

   Derek drags a hand through his hair and walks to the door where he unlocks it and, inhaling deeply and walks out without another word or backward glance.

   Stiles waits a few minutes before digging for the wet-wipes in his drawer, cleaning his face of Derek’s seed.

oOo

“ _Stiles_?”

   Through the small crowd of scouts, sponsors and other testosterone-fuelled groupies, Stiles finds his beautiful, red-haired colleague sitting casually in one of the plush seats facing the stadium.

   “Now you are by far the last person I expected to find here.”

   “Right back at ya. Feels like I’m back in the Stone Age,” she says tight-lipped, distain at all the _hooyah_ back-slapping clear on her face. She pats the chair next to her. “Have a seat, my distinguished colleague, _darling_ of the academia, and save me from these cave men.”

   Stiles chuckles before he sits down and gets comfortable, the roar of the capacity crowd like electricity crackling through the air. Marching bands, cheerleaders, mascots – it’s pomp and circumstance, collegiate-style.

   “Didn’t think you followed college football,” Lydia smiles as if she can see right through him, eyeing his security pass.

   “I don’t, but the atmosphere’s great,” he shrugs it off.

   Lydia leans forward, the stadium laid out below, awash with the colours of the two teams. “That it is,” she remarks.

   The crowd erupts as the home team runs on to the field, the thunderous roar quickly melding into a chant;

   _Hale, Hale, Hale…_     

   The quarterback in question joins his teammates on the field. They all turn to him, walk closer without being summoned, drawn like a pack of wolves to their alpha.

   “To think he’s going to make more money in one season than you and I will in our entire careers,” Lydia sighs, scanning her perfect manicure.

   They kick off. Stiles is mesmerised. Even in the private suite, hundreds of feet above the action he can’t bring himself to look away, like Derek would know the moment his eyes are not on him anymore.

   Derek slices through the offence like a hot knife through butter, leaving crumbled bodies in his wake. He looks _bored_ after each touchdown.  

   “Kids a god,” a rotund man in an expensive suit says, sponsored beer in one hand, eyes sparkling. “Un _fuckin_ touchable.”

   Stiles stomach twists.

   The game is brutal. They lose by one point.

oOo

Stiles locks his front door behind him and hangs up his jacket. He takes the security pass and also hangs it up by its lanyard, right next to his jacket. He brushes over the card before he takes the stairs up to his room.

   Switching on a bedside lamp he walks into his en suite. He folds his clothes and sets them on the bath edge, catching his reflection in the mirror. The angry purple crescents on his clavicle are starting to discolour. He doesn’t bother with the ones already fading across his back.

   He hasn’t heard anything from Derek. Then again he didn’t expect to, certainly not after the game they had. He still goes through with his ritual though - using the toilet and then stepping into the shower to scrub himself thoroughly. Just in case.

   Steam billows out the door when he steps into his bedroom some time later, a towel around his narrow waist.

   Pulling on a pair of old boxers and a t-shirt bearing the University logo, he climbs into bed and switches off the lamp. He checks his phone, biting his lower lip.

   **_Thank you for inviting me. You were magnificent._**

He stares at the message he typed, and quickly hits _send_ before he can change his mind again. He falls asleep eventually, dreaming of Derek fucking him right there in the private suite while there’s a line of people waiting to slap him on the back.   

oOo

He’s woken up by his front door closing and a key scrabbling around to lock it again.

   He blinks sleep-confused, and pats around for his cell. He’s barely been asleep for an hour. The moment those heavy, familiar footfalls start up the stairs though he’s fully awake, heartbeat revving up at once.

   He stays on his side, back to the door and stomach clenching as Derek pads into his room. His keys jangle as he purposely let them drop on the dresser-drawer. His watch is next, the heavy metal strap clunking against the polished wood. He walks over and comes to stand at the foot of the bed. There’s a shuffle and one boot thumps down on the carpet.

   “Good evening, _professor_ ,” Derek says in the dark. Stiles heart jumps. He doesn’t sound drunk, but the edges of his voice are definitely frayed. “Did you enjoy the game?”

   Stiles carefully rolls onto his back as another boot hits the floor.

   “ _Don’t_ ,” Derek stops him when he reaches for the lamp.

   Derek pulls his t-shirt over his head, his chest hair a fuzzy carpet down his torso in the dim light. He pops the top button of his jeans, the rasp of his zipper too loud in the dark.

   Not that Stiles’ cock minds at all, plumping up as it does at the heat-inducing private strip show.

   Derek’s not quite fully hard yet, his still scarily impressive dick swinging out against a hairy thigh as he sets a knee down on the bed. The mattress dips deeply under his bulk as he starts to crawl towards Stiles. In one fluid move the covers are pulled away and he flips Stiles around. He starts to manhandle Stiles out of his clothes, flinging them in every which direction. Stiles knows better than to resist. Not that he stands a chance against Derek’s strength in any case. By now his traitorous cock is rock hard, and Derek’s rough, impatient hands has a drop of precum beading at the head.    

   Freed of everything that stood in his way Derek settles down behind him and pulls him back against his chest, a muscled thigh pushed up between his legs. His fully erect now, a burning, thick length that lies against Stiles’ taint, the head nudging his balls out of the way.

   Derek’s familiar cologne is there under the staleness of cigarette smoke and whatever spilled liquor he’s been throwing back with his team mates. But the toothpaste-freshness of his breath when he mouths at Stiles’ nape is holy unexpected. Stiles quickly stamps down on the floaty spark in his gut.

   “You _infuriate_ me,” he says against his skin and bites down. Stiles yelps into his pillow, stomach clenching at his words. “You stand there in the front of the class with your fucking hipster glasses and your fucking hipster clothes like you’re all oblivious,” he grinds against Stiles’ ass, parting his cheeks with his erection. “You have _no_ idea how much you distract me. And now I've lost the playoff's.”

   Stiles manages to turn his head to the side. “’s not your fault,” he gets out, and for his trouble has his hands pinned down on the pillow above his head, held tight by the wrist with one of Derek’s paws.

   “No, it’s yours,” Derek bites out and grinds down again, pushing the air from Stiles’ lungs. More precum weep from Stiles cock, smearing the sheets.

   Another roll of his hips and his cock stabs at Stiles hole. He grunts in Stiles ear, and Stiles bucks against him, but Derek easily holds him down.

   “Derek, lube,” Stiles pleads through his squashed lips.

   “ _No_ ,” Derek says right by his ear and grinds down harder, his cock slick with his own precum. “You don’t deserve it. I want to make sure you feel it tomorrow.”

   “I a-always feel you.”

   “Fucking _know_ it.”

   Stiles scrunch his eyes shut. He stops straining against Derek’s bruising grip and just goes lax.

   “There we go,” Derek drags out when Stiles goes pliant underneath him. “Gonna be good for me, now?”

   Stiles swallows and nods into the pillow.

   Derek immediately starts mouthing and licking across his neck and shoulders, his cockhead kneading the tight ring of muscle at Stiles’ entrance, soaking it with his copious precum and the gathering sweat between their bodies. “Fuck, I'm so close.”

   “Derek, _please_ , y-you’re too big.”

   Derek swears under his breath and suddenly reaches across the bed, holding himself up with his hand pressed roughly between Stiles shoulders. The bedside drawer is almost ripped all the way out, contents violently tossed about before he comes back with the bottle of lube. Stiles exhales.

   The cap is flicked open and Stiles can hear lube being squirted out, then the slick sounds of Derek smearing it over his length. He settles back down, one hand hot and rough on his wrists, the other between his cheeks where he’s guiding his now thankfully lube-smeared erection to Stiles’ entrance.

   Stiles exhales, tries to relax even further and pushes back. Anything to ease the-

   The fat head of Derek’s cock pops through. Stiles cries out at the burning snap of pain, his hole contracting instinctively. “ _Fuck_ , there we go,” Derek smiles against his dampened hair and just keeps on pushing. Stiles feels like he’s being wrenched apart, Derek’s girth spreading him open, just driving into him.

   “ _Ungh_ … Jesus, Derek, _slower_ ,” Stiles whimpers, moisture clumping his eyelashes together.

   Derek just keeps going, keeps pushing until his balls press up against Stiles taint, and then without a pause slides all the way out to just to _slam_ back in. Stiles grunts, his breath leaving him in a rush, stars bursting across his vision.

   And Derek starts pounding with a forearm across Stiles’ shoulders, the other hand still pinning his wrists down. “Fuck… _ahhh_ … Stiles…” he grunts. He leans down to lick and bite, the muscles along his back bunching, his ass flexing like he wants to pound him through the mattress.

   The brutal slap of skin-on-skin competes with Stiles’ high moans and Derek’s deep grunts.  

   To Stiles relief his pace quickly becomes frantic, the squeaking of the bedframe picking up. “Fuck… gonna come… gonna, come… uuungh…” Derek pumps his cock into Stiles like he wants to split him, bury into him and never come out, the headboard smacking dents into the plaster. He bites down on his neck, crushes Stiles wrists in his grip, his other arm like a vice around his chest, and slams deep one last time, positively _roaring_.

   Warmth fills Stile’s hole in pulsing jerks in time with the rhythmic _pump_ - _grind_ of Derek’s hips, his grip almost bone-crushing as he collapses on top of him.

   Stiles struggles for breath under Derek’s weight, his hips still stuttering, a chest-deep groan breathed against the side of his face with every shudder.

   At last Derek stills completely, the only movement the heaving of his chest pushing Stiles into the bedding. No more than a few minutes have passed since Derek climbed into his bed, yet Stiles isn’t even able to clench around the still sporadic quaking of thick flesh buried inside him.

   “Jesus _fuck_ ,” Derek exhales against Stiles damp neck. He plants a kiss there, soft and tender. Stiles blink, unsure if it’s just Derek’s endorphins playing with him, if he even knows what he’s doing.

   “God, you’re perfect,” Derek says completely out of breath and kisses him again.

   Stiles squeeze his eyes shut, and the moisture finally spills to roll down to his nose. Derek rolls them to the side a bit and drags a sweaty hand down to Stiles’ cock which has gone completely flaccid. He fumbles over it, rolls his balls around. “Didn’t you come?” he asks, sounding amazed. Stiles shakes his head, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

   With a last kiss to his nape Derek pulls out, the wet squelch almost as painful as it sounds. Stiles winces, instinctively clenching down at the fluids that escape him. Derek rolls him onto his back and lies down on top of him, resting the bulk of his weight on his elbows.

   Stiles blinks and stares up at Derek’s flushed face, hair plastered to his forehead, veins _still_ bulging in his neck. He’s beautiful, grinning softly.

   _Kid’s a god…_

   And he’s kissing Stiles.

   Impossibly soft lips brush against his own. Stiles eyes goes wide and he jerks back into the pillow. “You’ve never…” Stiles blurts out before shutting his mouth.

   Derek just smiles with a hint of teeth, and Stiles insides melt. He leans down and kisses him again, parting his lips to push his tongue into Stiles mouth, filing, licking, _dominating_ …

   Stiles moans wantonly, circling his arms around the bulk of Derek’s torso as best he can, losing himself in the kiss, not daring to hope.

   Derek pulls away too soon, Stiles lips and skin tingling from beard-burn. “Okay, that’s enough, don’t wanna spoil you,” he says, his mouth curling into the epitome of youthful smugness.

   Then he’s kissing down his chest, biting each nipple, over his trembling stomach, down to his groin to nose at his cock that is quickly filling up again. Without warning he swallows Stiles down to the root.

   Stiles has a moment to revel in the fact of _two_ ‘never-before’s’ in one night, a second to feel guilty about not being able to deepthroat Derek as well, and then he’s swept away by pleasure.

   Derek hooks his legs over his shoulders and sucks him with a fervour that has Stiles going crossed eyed. Big hot hands hold him down around his hip and chest. With great difficulty he manages to lift his head and watch the black-as-night crown of Derek’s head bob up and down between his legs. He runs his fingers through those locks but knows not to grip them.

   The hand on his hip trails around and down to start playing with his drawn-up sack, and then Derek is sliding his thumb into Stiles loose wet hole. His hips jerk up but Derek is ready for him. He slips in his middle and forefinger and sucks down at the same time.

   Stiles start to quake and Derek pulls off with a slurp. “Nuh uh, you’re gonna come on my cock.”

   Stiles tries to focus as Derek sits upright, something hot and slick rubbing against the inside of his thigh. Derek’s erection swings into view, thickly veined, rearing to go again. Stiles stares at it and back to Derek’s darkened face.

   Derek moves forward, bending him in half, and just slides in for the second time. He doesn't ease into it, just goes into a full-out pumping of his hips.

   Stiles cries out, hands useless against the bulging muscles of his arms and shoulders. “D-Derek… please… slower…” Stiles begs. Derek ignores him and fumbles for Stiles’ quickly deflating cock, jacking it back to hardness. He _triple-times_ stripping Stiles cock with the pace of his hips, and soon Stiles start to beg again, shamelessly.

   “You will not come before I do,” Derek warns him right in his face, and plunders his mouth. He holds Stiles hands above his head as he speeds up, let his legs fall around his hips, staring right into his eyes.

   Cut-off little whines gets pushed out of Stiles with every thrust of Derek’s body. “Can’t… hold… pleaaaase…” His whole body goes taught and a millisecond later his orgasm slams into him without warning. Derek follows him right after, growling like a bear.

   For the second time Derek collapses with his full weight on Stiles, his sweaty heaving chest just constricting Stiles’ own lungs even more. With trembling hands Stiles shoves – uselessly - at his side. With an out-of-breath grunt Derek pulls out, grimacing down at where his slick cock pops free of Stiles’ body. There’s an awkward little dance of rearranging limbs, and Derek plops down again, still half on top of Stiles, a heavy arm and leg flung over his body. Stiles holds on to the thick muscle draped over his chest, breath ragged. His seed is cooling where it’s smeared across his chest, clumps caught in Derek’s chest hair. Derek’s own cock is a wet line of heat pressed against his hip.

   Stiles’ lower half is numb, his hole tingling with that dull ache that is a precursor to the real pain.

   “Am I forgiven?” he asks the dark ceiling.  

   Derek pulls Stiles closer half under him, his eyes closed. “I’ll think about it,” he nuzzles into his neck. “Go get a washcloth.”

   “Would you be so kind as to fetch me a washcloth, _please_.”

   “ _Now_ ,” Derek rumbles and digs a thick finger into Stiles’ flesh.

   Stiles squirms out from under him and sits back against the headboard. “You know, I’m still older than you. Show some respect,” he says, switching on the lamp.

   Derek groans at the sudden glare, burying his face in the pillow like a child refusing to go to school. “You’re not even thirty yet. Now go _fetch_ me that washcloth before I fuck you again. _Old man,_ ” he adds with a grins.  

   Stiles glares down at Derek’s blissed out, post-coital features, so heartbreakingly handsome and _young_ that he could easily fall in lo-

   He gets up and pads over his bathroom, nose wrinkling with every step but thankful that the wakening pain and grossness of an ass filled with so much cum is at least distracting him from his meddling heart.

   He cleans himself in the bathroom, tries to get as much of Derek’s seed out of his channel, then walks back into the bedroom with a warm moist washcloth for him.

   While Derek wipes himself off Stiles picks up his boxers and slips them back on.

   “What do you think you’re doing?” Derek asks lightly, frowning down at his chest hair as he wipes it down.

   Stiles shoulders sag. “Derek, please, I’m-“

   “Not _right now_ ,” he rolls his eyes and drops the washcloth over the side of the bed. “C’mere, get into bed.”

   Stiles blinks at him, the sudden spark of hope scaring him more than anything. “You’re sleeping over?” he asks, trying his upmost to sound casual.

   There’s a fleeting moment where Derek does not meet his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sleeping over,” he says, just as cavalier. “Now get that fine ass over here,” he adds with a clearly put-on scowl.

   Stiles slips his boxers off again and gets back into bed. He’s hardly able to switch off the lamp before Derek grabs him and rakes him closer, folding him into the warmth of is much bigger frame.

   He presses his mouth to the top of Stiles’ head and just keeps it there, inhaling his scent. Stiles lowers his face, gently pushing up against Derek’s forearm across his chest, and plants a soft kiss on the warm, firm muscle.

   A few seconds later Derek sighs deeply and pulls Stiles in tighter.

oOo

   Of course the twenty year old, horny college football jock sharing his bed would not let his naked ass go to sleep. What was he thinking…

   Stiles mind is just calming down when he becomes aware of Derek’s junk filling out and out _and out_ until he is shamelessly rutting against him, nibbling at his neck. He tries to resist when Derek rolls him over but he might as well push against a Mack truck with the parking brake on.   

   Soon Derek has him on his knees and elbows, watching in slack jawed fascination as he plunges his veined girth into Stiles reddened hole, all slick and shiny when he pulls out again, the rim dragging back with it.

oOo

   Round four and Derek holds him in his lap, Stile’s legs cradled in one of his arms as he brutally fucks up into him. Stiles has to grabs hold of a veined, bulging bicep as his feet jostles around like he’s on the tailgate of a truck bumping over a rocky dirt road. Derek whispers things like _so good for me_ and _I own you, professor_ into his ear while he roughly jacks him off with his free hand.

   Afterwards he feeds him his own come, swiping it up off Stiles’ stomach and chest, smearing it along his puffy lips till he has to lick it off.

oOo

   It’s in the just-there glimmer of dawn that Derek starts pawing Stiles awake again, nudging his raging hard-on in between Stiles’ cheeks. Stiles tries to crawl away but Derek just drags him back like he’s a naughty puppy.

   Stiles starts to beg and plead for forgiveness like he truly believes it was his fault they lost the playoffs.

   Derek watches all of this with a cocked eyebrow and Stiles wrists pinned behind his back.

   Stiles ends up dragged half onto his lap, his legs wrapped around Derek’s waist to give him better leverage while he has a hand wrapped around both their cocks, Stiles feeling even smaller at Derek’s broad erection eclipsing both his own girth and length by whole inches.

   But it’s Derek framing Stiles’ head with his other arm, staring at him like he demands some kind of answer, kissing him till he’s out of breath that has him shudder through an orgasm that actually _hurts_.

   It’s the one he fantasizes about the most.  

oOo

When he wakes Derek is gone, and the disappointment is so sudden and fierce, for a few seconds he actually debates whether to get out of bed at all.

oOo

He doesn’t hear from Derek for the rest of the week. Sure, he sees him in class, but he doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t send any of his crude, juvenile jokes.

   Stiles knows he’s being ignored, and it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

   He is the adult, after all.

oOo

He almost steps on it, the folded piece of paper torn from a notebook and shoved under his office door.

   No phone call, no quick text sent in the middle of the night.

   A note, shoved under his door, like it’s a 1950’s spy flick.

   He doesn’t have to open it to know it’s from him, the slanting masculine scrawl penned so heavily it’s lined right through to the outside.

   **_You’re forgiven._**

oOo

“Professor Stillinski?”

   Stiles looks up from where he’s been grading papers, completely oblivious to the fact that he isn’t alone in the lecture hall anymore. His heart stutters at the sight of Derek, shorts and t-shirt filled out like only an athlete can, graceful even as he stands awkwardly with his backpack, waiting for Stiles to respond.

   “Ah, yeah, yes, Derek. What can I do your for?” he says with a genial smile and goes back to his papers even though his concentration has suddenly left for the day.

   “I ah, I wanted to ask you… something.”

   Stiles slowly looks up, the almost child-like insecurity in his voice _eons_ away from his normal self-assured cockiness.

   “Yes?”

   “Well, I was wondering,” he begins only to glance behind him at the open door, then back to Stiles with a heavy sigh. “I was wondering if you would be able to take a few days off, you know, before finals.”

   “A few days… off?”

   “Yeah,” Derek nods. And he blushes. _Actually blushes_. It’s so beautiful Stiles wants to jump over the counter right into his arms, - tenure be damned. “My ah, my parents have a cabin up north by the lake,” he continues. “And I ah, I wanted to know if you, ya know, would like to spend a few days there. With me.”

   Stiles has to blink to get his tongue working.

   “I would like that,” he smiles.

 

 

**Fin**

  

  


End file.
